


the sorcerer's (unwanted) apprentice

by StrangerInAStrangeLand



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Please Don't Take This Seriously, stephen strange should be a dad, you may or may not hate me after reading this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/pseuds/StrangerInAStrangeLand
Summary: Doctor Strange isn't seeking any apprentices at the moment. He can barely manage his own life, how can he expect to help a child?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	the sorcerer's (unwanted) apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i spent a lot of time on this but it's also really stupid at the end

It was the middle of summer, in the depths of a heat wave. It wasn't the best temperature to be traveling it, but it was considerably better than the previous rainstorms and blizzards he had faced. 

The young wizard ran through the streets of New York, searching for the one building that would hold the answers to his questions. The building that would hold the key to his power. The building that would help him prove himself worthy of his power.

He was sweaty. Terribly sweaty. But shelter and water were currently afterthoughts. What he needed was that one building.

No one thought oddly of the young boy racing past them. He wasn't threatening to take over the world (at least to their knowledge) so he just blended into the background. 

And then, he stopped. He felt his knees buckle as he collapsed near a wall, frantically trying to catch his breath. He felt like he was on the verge of death. This was his end. This is how he was going to go out - a complete and utter failure. 

In the midst of his panting, he decided to look up from the sidewalk where his sweat was splattering onto. Then there was the sudden realization that he hadn't failed...yet.

Because right before him was the majestic, mystical, mesmerizing beauty of the Sanctum Sanctorum. 

* * *

Stephen Strange wasn't interested in being alive at the moment, let alone communicating with anyone. 

Today was just many in a series of days where he spent all his time meditating. Not even sleeping, meditating. It had been mere weeks since he recovered from his "death" (and subsequent ressurection) at the hands- er, gauntlet -of a megalomaniacal tyrant. Yet even then, he still found himself drifting off at various points in the day into another possible outcome. An outcome no one would experience but him. 

14,000,605. That number had been etched into his brain since he entered the Time Stone. The complexity of the number. 14 million. 6 hundred. 5. Each one just as traumatizing as the next. And even when he found the 1 where Thanos was defeated, it required the sacrifice of many brave heroes. 

The blood was on his hands. Everyone said otherwise, but he knew it. The blood was on his hands. He put the pieces into place. He crafted each move. He knew who would live and who would die. 

He was exhausted at this point. Exhausted and utterly lonely. But he came to accept the loneliness recently. In fact, he practically invited it. He was nothing but a burden at this point. His job required immediate function 24/7. Nothing- absolutely nothing -could distract him, lest he want to watch the universe shatter. 

His concentration was broken by the piercing sound of glass meeting floor. He opened his eyes, bringing himself back to reality, and immediately went to investigate the source. He suspected it was his Cloak, but moments after the sound it had rushed to its host to grab his wrist and lead him to the source.

He wanted to dispose whatever creature or monster was in his house this time. To put it lightly, he wasn't in the mood. 

"Is there anybody there?" He called out. "Hello? This building isn't open for rent-" 

All of a sudden, the room filled with dark purple smoke. He heard a loud _ZAP_ , followed by the flourish of fabric. Before he knew it, a wooden stick was being pointed at his face, held by a relatively young boy who he as never seen before. 

"Doctor Stephen Strange, I presume?" The boy asked, attempting to sound intimidating. 

"Yes...and you are-?"

The boy suddenly kneeled down in front of him, as if he were a knight greeting his king.

"Make me your apprentice!" He beckoned. "I am willing to obey your every command. Just teach me how to be powerful, like you!" 

"Wh- What?" This wasn't how he thought this would turn out. Most Sanctum invasions involves attempted murder, first off. 

Normally, he'd just let him down gently. He only had a few years (well, technically millions of years) of experience under his belt. His life was a complete wreck right now, with the aftermath of the Decimation combined with the nightmares. He didn't even have time for whoever this was, to put it bluntly.

"Look, kid, I'm not looking for students right now--"

"I AM NOT A _KID!"_

Another loud _ZAP_ caused the lights to go out. The room shook violently for a moment, almost throwing Stephen off his feet. When the light returned, the boy was standing at the top of the stairs, holding a glass artifact as if it were Hamlet's skull. 

Stephen rested his forehead into his palm, the migraine in the back of his head finally making itself known. 

"Be careful with that, it's fragile-" 

"Teach me how to become the most powerful sorcerer in the galaxy!" 

This guy wouldn't give up. 

"Kid-"

"I am _NOT-_ " 

"I don't know what to tell you," Stephen admitted with a sigh. "I don't know how to do that." 

The boy's eyebrows furrowed. He dropped his menacing arm, his wand(?) falling to his side. He climbed down the stairs, looking at Stephen was a disappointed glare the entire time." 

"Well," He began, his British accent drawling. "Can't you just settle to be my teacher?" 

Stephen examined him. He looked...tired. Desperate. He was obviously already versed in the mystic arts (or some form of it). He looked incredibly insecure. As if he were compensating for something. 

"It doesn't work like that," Stephen told him, voice hushed. "The mystic arts take months and months and months to learn, let alone perfect. I, alone, cannot do that for you. I'm sorry." 

There. He let him down easy. Was that enough?

"Just teach me to be powerful." 

Guess it wasn't enough. 

The boy gripped his wand tightly, his eyes ablaze with growing rage. From any other multidimensional being, it would be threatening. But coming from a freckled preteen wizard with braces, it just looked like he was on the verge of a temper tantrum. 

"I want to be powerful." 

There it was. There was the silent fury. The constant push to get what he wanted, without actually thinking about how to get it. 

"No you don't," Stephen said. The boy's eyes widened. 'You don't want power."

The boy's mouth opened to start abother argument, but Stephen shot him down quickly.

"Kid, you don't know what you're getting into," he declared. He turned away from him, loking around his library. Thousands upon thousands of books. Many of them filled with all kinds of torture spells, destruction spells, and genocidal spells. His hand crept to his robes, tracing the outline of the Eye of Agamotto.

A number spoke loud and clear throughout his brain: 14,000,605. 

Each future etched into his mind. Each outcome relived in the depths of the night. Each death cradled in the arms of his eidetic memory for eternity.

Each one more painful to endure than the last.

"You think you want power, you tell yourself you'll use that power for good, and then you do...unspeakable things to yourself." 

The boy watched him, his expression faltering from vexed to concerned. He rubbed his arm nerviously. 

"Or to others?" 

Stephen turned around, surprised by his comment. He no longer looked like a wannabe demon. He looked like...like a kid. A lost, terrified kid who wanted control ove his powers. 

His comment rang true. A brief memory of the lifeless zealot lying in the Sanctum was burned into his memory . Tony's face right before saving the world was right after it. 

"Or to others," Stephen nodded in agreement. "And you're not sure if you, or anyone else, will ever recover. Do you really want that?" 

The boy, for once, stood speechless. For a moment, Stephen thought he was frozen. He contemplated his answer, crossing his arms across his chest. 

Eventually, he came to his conclusion. 

"Want that? Gods no," he said, much more eloquently this time. "But I've already lived it." 

Stephen looked back at him, intrigued. This was new.

"There's a reason I'm here, you know," he continued, his voice losing its overdramatic boom. 'I don't have anywhere else to go. I'm just a weak sorcerer, an even weaker friend, and I want to prove myself worthy of my talents. I want to be better. Can you at least teach me that?"

He had a backstory...shit, he had a backstory. He couldn't just turn him away, back into the sweltering heat, with no one to turn to. Not now. Not when he needed help. 

Stephen examined the boy again. He wasn't maniacal. He wasn't power-hungry. He was just a ginger who wanted to perfect his craft. And even though he didn't fully understand his craft, that didn't mean he couldn't help him control it. 

Great. He was turning into Tony Stark. Was this his "kid"? Was this his Peter Parker? Would he have to follow him around the city, chaperoning him as he saved the day? 

"Get comfortable," Stephen said bluntly, disguising his sigh. The boy's face lit up, and Stephen almost smiled. No, no- he couldn't get attached. This was his "apprentice", not his son. 

He grabbed a book based around ancient wizardry techniques and placed it in his hands. 

"The first lesson starts tomorrow. The guest rooms are upstairs. If you see something that looks like a relic, please don't touch it. I don't have insurance." 

The boy struggled to contain his excitement. He almost squealed upon being handed the book, before quickly regaining his composure. He grabbed the tip of his lifeless cloak and bowed politely. 

"Thank you."

He turned to walk up the stairs when it suddenly occured to Stephen that he forgot one minor detail. 

"What's your name, kid?" 

The boy turned around, smiling proudly. 

"Kyle," he declared with pride. "Kyle the Conjurer." 

**Author's Note:**

> so here are my notes:  
> \- kyle comes from another dimension (the galaxy hills-Verse, as we'll call it), which is why stephen doesn't understand his type of magic  
> \- i hc stephen as bi and kyle as gay/trans, which might come up if i write a sequel  
> \- i might write more if people want me to? idk i just wanted to write a dumb surprise crossover thing lol


End file.
